What the hell...I don’t own such a tacky...
Understanding dawned. It was a dream, just not hers. Just like the other night. She should get used to it. She was in Hades’ head again and he was somewhere sleeping and having one of his erotic dreams. About her.
Her whole body clenched as she watched his head dipping lower, kissing the gentle slope of her breast. Her breath came out in a hiss when she felt his tongue, wet and wicked, teasing the flesh just above her left nipple. He wrapped her right leg around his waist and she felt his hand caressing the back of her leg and bottom. She followed the hand in the mirror as it disappeared between their two bodies, and suddenly, she didn’t care whether it was her dreaming or him dreaming. She just wanted to get back to that part in the other dream—she swallowed, trying to slow down her thoughts, mixed with that aching need that was pushing her over the edge.
Not a dream.
She frowned. Why was she hearing a different warning now? It was hard to concentrate. Her thoughts were a confused jumble of unfinished sentences, with odd images and thoughts interrupting.
“I know it isn’t my dream,” she affirmed. “I don’t freaking own a bustier.”
Not that the affirmation mattered. Her body was wantonly pushing against the hand exploring her intimately, her leg curling, on its own accord tightening and loosening its hold of his body. He knew exactly where to touch, inciting her into a frenzy even as he skillfully kept her right at the edge without pushing her over. She was helpless against the rising tide of heated pleasure pushing against all her nerve endings. She didn’t think she could survive another interruption.
Fantasy or not, her need for him was very real. She wanted this man desperately. Now. And if she didn’t make it happen soon, she knew the buzzer would wake her up again and she’d once again be left bereft, unable to get the magic release he kept promising her.
She caught an image of herself with her arms wrapped around his neck as he tilted her further back. His heat—she wanted his hot length inside her, not his fingers.
Dammit—dream or not, she was going to have him this time. That image—of her so passively supine, so willing to be led—was Hades’,not hers. She fought with herself to ignore the urge to follow the fantasy going on in her head. She wasnotgoing to stay passive, dammit. She wasnotgoing to let him take charge.
She made herself look at the mirror. A part of her understood it somehow represented her own mind, that she was seeing the fantasy through a mirror. Her hand felt like lead as she forced it to obey her. She reached between them, wrapping her hand around his thick length and guiding it toward her slippery heat. She stood on tiptoe, using the leg around his waist as leverage. The head of his penis nudged hard against her. She felt giddy with desire and as she slid her hand down its length, she thought she heard Hades’ groan over the roar of anticipation reverberating in her ears. She smiled in triumph. At last...she swiveled her hip, undulating toward...
Nothing.
She was suddenly standing alone. She swayed on her feet. Frustration like she’d never known before spewed out violently, like water from a busted fire hydrant, and she fell on her knees. She slapped the floor in anger but barely felt any pain.
She was hot all over, flushed with some kind of sexual inflammation for which she couldn’t find a cure. The sensitiveness had turned into a raging fever. Part of her was telling her to calm down, to think. The other part was keening for release, that if she didn’t do something soon, she would go mad. The other part was winning.
She looked into the mirror in front of her, trying to control her breathing. The damn bustier was too tight. She grabbed at the ribbons, pulling at them till they were knotted up.
“Come back!” she screamed at her image in the mirror. “You’re not going to stop this fantasy!”
She stared hard. She was still in his fantasy; dammit, she could feel his presence. Just then, she saw him, in the corner of the mirror. She reeled back, watching in shock. In rage.
He was lying on his back and a beautiful woman was sitting on top of him. She was wearing the same bustier, the top of her breasts popping out precariously as she swayed forward, teasing the man underneath her.
Helen watched as Hades reached up and slowly pulled one of the ends of the red bow. The woman pulled back, helping with the unraveling, and even in the shadows of the mirror, Helen could see the gap in front of the bustier widen.
Hades’ forefinger twirled around the next ribbon’s end; the woman pulled back; the gap widened into a bigger V. The woman’s breasts spilled out, so white against the black lace, and Helen couldn’t take her eyes away as Hades’ large hands scooped under them, freeing them from the bustier.
Helen’s own chest hurt. She was breathing too quickly, too deeply, and the tightness of the bustier was constricting. The lace rubbed her nipples till they puckered from the friction, causing even more sensual awareness of her body’s screaming needs.
“The bastard...he’s having another erotic dream about some other woman. How dare he?” She wanted to gnash her teeth. Of course he dared. A sleeping man could dream about anyone and anything he wanted. She was the intruder here, getting her jollies off someone’s fantasy about her. But she was beyond logic. “He started the fantasy with me, and dammit, he’s going to end it with me!”
She slapped against the mirror, pounding on the surface where she could see the image of the entwined couple. She had never felt so murderous in her life. How dare he? How dare he choose another fantasy woman other than her!
She prowled back and forth in front of the mirror, fueling her fury by sneaking angry glances at the image. She knew that her anger was irrational because this wasn’t real and Hades could dream of whatever...dammit, look at her crawling all over him...and whomever he...oh, be boring, dangle those stupid breasts over his face...wished because like he’d said, she was the one invading his...oh, hell no, you’re so not going to fuck him, bitch, where’s your buzzer, where’s your fucking buzzer?Helen barely registered the growl coming from her own throat.
It didn’t matter her head was telling her she was sleeping too, that she was also dreaming.
Not a dream.
She ignored that soft repetitive voice in her head. Semantics. She was “dreaming” Hades’ dream. Not a dream, but she was part of it.
She stared longingly into the mirror. Had been part of it, she corrected. She ached for his touch through and through. She choked back another cry. It was shadowy, but she could see that woman’s head bobbing up and down between Hades’ raised legs.Arggggh!That. Was. Her. Penis. She was the one who made it that size...
Oh, this was getting personal. She couldn’t stay rational about it at all. All she could think about was, that woman didn’t have a buzzer and she was going to get to make love to Hades.HerHades, dammit. She created him and there was no way in hell she was going to allow another female tamper withherdream man. She wouldnotbe ignored for some other fantasy woman, when she, Helen Roston, wasreal.
There had to be a way to reinsert herself back into Hades’ dream.
